The First Separation
by elliejelliebean
Summary: For the first time in their engagement, Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam are separated. Elizabeth will discover the pain of missing someone with whom one is in love, and Fitzwilliam will discover the joy of having the one that you love miss you in return.


**A/N: Hello, lovelies. I'm back with a quick, cute one-shot that I hope you enjoy. Don't you just _love_ them together? I do. :)**

The First Separation

Fitzwilliam Darcy was irritable.

This was most unusual, for the man had just arrived at his beautiful Derbyshire home after a long absence, and his disposition upon returning home was typically very sunny. The usual sternness would always disappear from his features, softening them and making his unusually blue eyes even more enchanting. And when his beloved sister was there as well, there would assuredly be at least one full-blown smile upon his opening the door, a rare occurrence for the man.

But not today. Today, Fitzwilliam Darcy was irritable, and the reason for it worried him.

He was irritable because he hadn't seen _her_ for four days now. And seeing as he had been travelling, he had not yet received any written correspondence from his fiancée. He was missing her terribly.

His reaction to her absence was disconcerting. Being away from her had affected him before she had consented to be his wife, but now that he knew that she was missing him too, the feeling had increased tenfold.

He shuddered to think of how he would handle being away from his fiancée when she was actually, finally, his wife.

He wouldn't be able to function.

But she could travel with him, when she was his wife. She could even bring Jane or amuse herself visiting the shops and seeing the sights. She could read and accompany him places. They would see the world together when he had business abroad. He filled his lonely mind with thoughts of them in various exotic locales.

The happy fantasy was interrupted a bit when he figured in that they would soon have small children to look after.

But then he realized that soon, they would have small children to look after, and then he was with Elizabeth at Pemberley, watching their children run across the grounds from the Master Balcony where he currently stood.

And Fitzwilliam Darcy wasn't quite so irritable anymore.

* * *

Elizabeth Bennet did not know what had gotten into her.

She knew that she loved him very, very much—she would never have accepted his proposal had she not loved him—but they had not yet been apart. She was for the first time experiencing the feeling of missing someone with whom one is quite in love, and she did not like the feeling at all. It made her fidgety and easily irritated. She was always on walks, these four days.

Today, she was frequenting one of her favorite haunts, which followed a creek bed near Longbourn. She had been deliberately trying to avoid thoughts of him, since she couldn't seem to think of anything else, but it was not working. Everything related to him; her brain seemed to be trying to make up for the fact that he wasn't physically close to her by never letting him stray from her thoughts.

His face filled her mind, and a longing that was so intense it almost made her want to sit down filled her chest.

His blue eyes, fringed with thick lashes, his thick dark hair, soft but somehow coarse, as well, his low voice, saying her name as if it was the most beautiful four syllables he could dream up, or perhaps "Lizzy," when he was being playful. She was teaching him to be playful.

She realized that she was smiling goofily and continued on her walk, not bothering to correct her face, for she would encounter no one here.

It was just her and her thoughts. Her and her imaginary companion.

_Well_, she reasoned with herself, _if I had to choose but one thing to think of for my entire life, it would be him, so I guess this plague of mind is not quite so bad._

After all, she had always been an optimist.

* * *

"Do it!" A servant whispered to her companion as they stood in the hallway outside the Master's Study. "Come on, Etta! You can't back out now!"

"Oh, shut that pretty little mouth of yours, May! I'm goin' and I wasn't thinkin' of doing something shameful such as bowin' out or any of the like!"

"Then do it! Hurry up; we haven't got the whole day!"

"Maybelle, I'm goin', to quiet you if for nothin' else. Now shh!"

She walked quietly to the door and knocked lightly. May felt rather badly, for Etta was new and didn't yet know that the Master was not to be trifled with. But it was tradition for the servants to have to complete some sort of dare upon their hiring, and Etta's had been decided.

The servants wanted to know how much Mr. Darcy truly loved his future bride. That he was entirely smitten was quite obvious, but they were anxious to know the extent of his adoration. Etta had been sent to discover it. May said a quick prayer for her.

When Etta entered, Mr. Darcy was sitting at his desk reading a letter that was taking that smile that so rarely graced his face and fixing it there indefinitely. Etta, who had known him for not two days, knew that this was a sight to be seen.

He put the letter down and gave her his full attention, forever polite and respectful.

"If you'll be pardoning me, Sir, I've been sent to ask some questions so that we can be readyin' the Mistress's chambers. If you'd just be so kind…"

"Yes, by all means, ask away," he said lightly, his eyes glancing down at the letter. Etta knew that he was itching to return to it. He stood and walked over to the window, as if to remove himself from the temptation of being entirely rude and reading it in front of her.

"What are some of Miss Bennet's favorite books? You know, to ensure that the library is properly stocked."

When Mr. Darcy answered, he sounded rather distracted.

"Swift, she adores, and Voltaire. The Bard, of course, and Sophocles. Chaucer, and then also the light novels of the day, particularly comedies and romances, although these she plows through extraordinarily quickly and of them she refuses to name a favorite, although she is quick to recommend the worthy ones."

Etta smiled. "A favorite color?"

"Yellow. But not the yellow of egg or of candle—the color of the Yellow Jessamine. 'Tis her favorite flower, as I'm sure you were planning to inquire."

"Food?"

"She enjoys all, save an intense hatred of boiled potatoes. She claims that her favorite food is simply freshly baked bread."

Etta was impressed, but all of this could have come up in a very elementary "getting to know you" convseration. She decided to up the ante.

"Her favorite linens?"

"Cotton."

Very impressive. The servants would be excited about this.

"Anything else we should take note of?"

"She rises at about 7:30 every day, except after balls, when she rises at about 10:00. She does not like being woken up. She enjoys walking. I would wager a guess that she'll take a walk every morning when she arrives here, and she'll want to have the proper shoes, so make note of that when consulting her on the types of shoes to buy. She'll not be accustomed to the kinds of shoes that she'll be purchasing. I'll think of more, I'm sure, so I'll write a list and give it to Mrs. Reynolds, but that should be enough to get you started."

"Thank you, Sir."

"Oh, and Etta?"

He turned around to face her, mischief in his eyes.

"Tell the rest of the servants that I love her very, very much."

Etta smiled hugely, which complimented her plain features. Mr. Darcy decided that he liked her. "Will do, Sir."

* * *

Fitzwilliam approached the broken-down country home with an exuberance unlike any he could ever remember. He and his horse galloped, the wind hitting his face and exhilarating him.

To his intense delight, she was waiting for him outside of her house. When she saw him, she ran to him.

He jumped off of his horse and kissed her passionately, more intensely than they ever had kissed before and much more violently than the rules of propriety would allow.

Neither seemed to care.

When he started to seriously consider undressing her, he forced himself to stop, drawing away from her.

"I missed you," he said, kissing her again, "so much."

"And I you," she responded, looking at him with nothing but adoration in her eyes. But then she bit her lip, looking worried about something.

"Fitzwilliam," she started, concerned.

"Yes, Elizabeth?"

"Will you often be away, when we are married?"

He smiled at her. "In all likelihood, yes."

Her face fell.

"But," he said, drawing her close and whispering in her ear, "you shall be with me."

Her eyes lit and her countenance softened.

"I think that we shall be very, very, happy together, Fitzwilliam."

"I would agree, my love." He kissed her. "I would most _definitely_ agree."


End file.
